Bee Stings and Butt Cheeks

It’s been a long time since my last update and I’m sorry about that– I know it must be tough to find other sources of entertainment on the Internet.

To give you a quick explanation/excuse – we had some last minute change of plans and spent the past 2 weeks in Geneva, Switzerland, as my grandma was unwell. With all the commotion and emotions, I really wasn’t in the mood to write. I’m happy to report that my grandma is doing better now and our trip is back on track.

So, I’m going to pick up where I left off: Our trip to Brazil. Get a glass of wine and I’ll shed some light on this unusual blog post title.

Rio Sugarloaf

{Abe and I at Sugarloaf mountain, overlooking Copacabana beach}

We spent our first week in Brazil in Rio de Janeiro, and we absolutely loved it. We drank countless liters (or gallons, whatever) of coconut water, sampled the city’s best caipirinhas, went up Sugarloaf Mountain, visited Christ the Redeemer, biked around the lagoon, checked out a Kandinsky exposition, and of course, spent many, many hours at the beach. Oh, and for musical accompaniment I sang ‘The Girl from Ipanema’ non-stop; that was surely a highlight for Abe too.

You can re-live all of our Carioca adventures, as well as highlights from our trips to Salvador and Iguazu, in Abe’s latest and awesome video montage below (to see a high res version, click here):

But let’s fast forward to the real ‘junk’ of this post. The back-story, if you will. The story I want to tell you begins with a formidable quest: The quest to tan my butt cheeks.

Now, don’t judge me. You know what they say: When in Rome, do as the Romans do. So, in Rio, I bought bikinis. The issue is that Brazilian bikinis hide only about 1/4 of your butt, and that’s if you buy an XL (cue Sysqo’s Thong Song – if you don’t get this reference you’re either too young or too old, but I love you for reading anyway). Since I’m neither Roman nor Carioca, my butt was white as snow. You’ll find that there are even websites dedicated to teaching tourists how to blend in on the beach– that’s how serious this issue is.

So I spent most of my time at the beach, working on my rear tan, getting a bigger (or, rather, smaller) variety of tan lines than I ever thought possible. And then, finally, I decided to try and even things out, tanning my front.

Boat Ride Brazil

{Check us out – I did get pretty tan in Brazil}

I live in Miami peeps. I know what I’m doing. I undid and tucked my bikini straps expertly, adjusted my position to face the sun, sprawled out on my beach chair, and got ready to bronze. And then, just as several beach vendors were offering to sell me crap I didn’t need, a bee found its way to me. And it stung me, right between my boob and my armpit.

It might have been ok if I hadn’t yelled. It could have been ok if I hadn’t jumped off my chair while doing so. It definitely wasn’t ok when did both of the above, and repeatedly brushed my hands against my body like a maniac, trying to shoo the bee away.

My top flew off. I flashed all of Copacabana beach. And thanks to my panicked squeals, I made sure they were all staring at me when it went down.

I wish I could tell you that I got a discount from the beach vendors, but I didn’t. No one clapped, though I doubt that’s to be expected and it would probably have made me feel worse. In the end, all I got was an embarrassed but entertained husband, and a swollen bee sting to remind me of my Brazilian exploits.